


Until Our Feet Won't Touch the Ground

by sixtotenpotatoes (schiefergrau)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, White House Era (Crooked Media RPF), Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 10:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schiefergrau/pseuds/sixtotenpotatoes
Summary: Jon's done with straight people. Good thing Tommy isn't.





	Until Our Feet Won't Touch the Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dasyatidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasyatidae/gifts).



> If you know someone mentioned in this story or are mentioned yourself, please click away. This is a work of fiction about fictional characters who happen to share their names and faces with some real people. I'm aware of the difference between them, and I trust you are as well.  
> Please do not share this work with anyone outside of fandom spaces.
> 
> Many thanks to [obsessivelymoody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelymoody/pseuds/obsessivelymoody) for beta reading.

"I'm so sick of only partying with straight people," Jon announces loudly as he steps into the living room. ”Straight people are the root of all evil and I should not have to subject myself to them in my time off if I already have to deal with them all the fucking rest of the time.” 

Tommy raises one eyebrow without looking up from his laptop and asks, "Don't you think you're a bit too dramatic here?"

"I've got every right to be dramatic, I think. I won't survive another night like last weekend!” He lets himself fall down on the couch next to Tommy and gives him a meaningful look, even if Tommy still doesn’t look up.

Jon had described it to him as "the erotic highlight of all DC parties up to this point" earlier this week—a guy they both know, wife and two little children at home, asked him if he would be discreet about any hypothetical interest any hypothetical guy might show in him. And that's where Jon decided that enough is enough.

"You know, I don't need this. And much less do I deserve it! You can't make me go there."

"I'm not going to make you do anything, Lovett,” Tommy says, still not looking at him, “You don't have to come, you know that, don't you?" 

"Yes, Tommy, you're right,” Jon agrees. “I could also sit home alone and pity myself for _being_ alone. That sounds like an excellent plan for a Saturday evening. Maybe I could even wear my oldest sweatpants and a dirty shirt, so I can feel a bit worse. Do we have ice cream? I have to have ice cream for a proper pity party." 

He sinks deeper into the cushions and turns his head to Tommy, trying for his best accusing glance. 

Tommy closes his laptop, puts it neatly away into the bag at his feet before turning to Jon. "Okay, fine—what do you want to do? Let's do _that_ tonight."

Jon pauses. His pulse picks up in a way it shouldn’t, in a way Jon doesn’t want it to and most of all in a way _Tommy_ didn’t intend. There are layers and implications to his question, and he probably isn’t aware of half of them. But Jon is. 

He swallows all the stupid shit he wants to say; things about getting Tommy out of his fucking shirt, and about kissing him in places Jon's not yet seen and already finds unbearably hot, like the dimples in his lower back or—

—and goes for a smirk instead. 

"Oh, Tommy. That's _lovely_ of you, but I don't think you'd be up to what _I'd_ want to do." He says it in an exaggerated way that makes the joke obvious and hides enough of the truth, and he lets his gaze linger until Tommy's ears turn red. 

But Tommy's on a mission it seems, jaw set straight and eyes locked firmly with Jon's. It's uncomfortably intense, and when Tommy bits his lower lip Jon wants to grab one of the cushions and press it into his lap—just in case.

"Try me," Tommy says, chin raised just the tiniest bit. 

"Okay," Jon says, shaking himself out of the shared gaze. Sitting up straight, rolling his shoulders back he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second. His mind is flooded with everything he could suggest and wants—and doesn't dare to. 

"Okay,” he says, “alright. Let's go out." 

*

Jon doesn’t particularly like this place—or any other gay bar in DC for that matter—but it’s like someone lifts a weight he didn’t even realize he was carrying off his shoulders as soon as they step through the door. This are _his_ people. They might be just as bad as the rest of DC is, but at least they’re his bad people. 

"If this was everything it took to get you happy again, why didn't we do it earlier?" Tommy asks, leaning into Jon with his whole body to speak over the music into his ear. He’s far too close for Jon’s liking. 

Jon’s only now realizing that he’s smiling. "Didn't really think you'd be up for it, you know," he says and shrugs. 

Tommy gives him a look Jon can’t interpret—and honestly doesn’t care to right now. 

“Let’s get a drink,” he says and places his hand tentatively between Tommy's shoulder blades to steer him into the direction of the bar. It's partly because he needs to bring a bit more distance between them. He can't be this close to Tommy without the thing in his chest moving. The pictures in his head are one thing, this is a different animal altogether. 

He bites his lower lip and tries very hard not to enjoy the feeling of Tommy's warmth under his fingers. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Jon's not even sure anymore why he suggested it. But what he does know is that he needs a drink. Desperately.

Unfortunately, the place being packed also means they have to wait in line, which also gives Tommy the opportunity to lean back in to continue their conversation. Jon’s so fucked.

“You said you didn’t think I would be up for it,” Tommy says, as much fact as it is a question. "Why would you think that?" 

Jon takes a deep breath and laughs an unhappy little laugh. "You're a good progressive boy, Tommy, but I know good progressive boys like you. You all try very, very hard to be super cool with us—and to a certain degree I can appreciate that—but in the end, all of you get uncomfortable when a guy hits on you. Not really the kind of company you want to take to a gay bar." 

Tommy has the audacity to look surprised at that. 

Jon pats him on the arm. "Don't take it too bad. It's nothing personal." It is a bit at least. But that’s Jon’s fault, so he’s not going to hold it against Tommy. At least not too much, not if he can help it.

Tommy yanks his arm back and scowls down at him, a deep furrow between his eyes. "Don't condescend me, asshole!" 

Jon lifts his hands in a placating gesture that's at least only half mocking. Before Tommy can say anything else it’s Jon’s turn. He orders two of the brightest drinks on the card, just out of spite. 

He pointedly doesn't look at Tommy. Fuck him. And fuck his fucking arm that appears in Jon's peripheral vision. He leans his back against the bar to look at Jon. 

"You are wrong, just so you know," he says, voice calm in a way that doesn't sound like the real him. It takes Jon a second before he realizes that Tommy's using his press voice on him. It's long enough for Tommy to already have turned away. 

"Sure I am," Jon laughs and tries very hard not to let it sounds too bitter. He’s not even sure if Tommy can still hear him over the volume of the music.

He pays for the drinks and walks over to where Tommy’s standing, wanting to continue mocking him for _trying so damn hard._ But when he sees the look on Tommy’s face he pauses. Tommy's jaw is set straight and he's bright red. Jon's not sure if... 

"Tommy?" He asks hesitantly. 

Without looking at him Tommy takes the glass out of Jon's hand, shoves the straw between his lips, and angrily starts drinking. It's far less of a picture than downing a whiskey would be, Jon thinks, and still, he finds himself staring at Tommy's hollowed cheeks. He doesn't stop staring until Tommy stops drinking. When he does, he turns to Jon, still red but less angry. 

"You are wrong," he says, still in the same voice, "and if you need to assume at least have the fucking decency to don't be that insistent you're right when I'm telling you that you aren't. " 

Jon sighs. "Okay, fine. You are better than your peers—as usual. I mean, you even share an apartment with a gay guy." He lifts his eyebrows mockingly. "I _get_ it."

Tommy laughs, sharp and clipped, and shakes his head. "No, Lovett, you don't _get it_. For such a smart guy you're sometimes really fucking dumb. I'm perfectly fine with guys hitting on me. In fact, I'd like that to happen way more often. Because this shit is _hard_ when you aren't the best at initiating, and," he looks pointedly a Jon, "also get read as straight constantly."

Jon's skin suddenly feels too tight. This—this is a lot to process. He stares at Tommy, unable to form a single clear thought, much less sentence. His knees are weak and the floor seems to sway slightly. 

Tommy looks at him, and his anger seems to have completely vanished. Instead, there are bright eyes, curiously searching for a reaction, and a tiny smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. Combined with his still bright red cheeks it makes him look almost unbearably young. Jon is simultaneously surprised and not surprised at all at how hard it hits him. 

He's fucked, he's _so_ fucked. 

"You... you just could have said something," Jon says, voice rough. His thoughts are changing so quickly that his head is nothing but gray static and noise.

Tommy rubs a hand over his chin and shrugs. "It's not that I go around telling everybody."

Jon can't believe that this is something that is happening—and he doesn't know how to deal with it. He wants to scream at Tommy, and hug him, and kiss him, and all of those sounds like fucking awful ideas. He needs to do something before he explodes with all the bottled up words in his chest.

"So I—your amazing roommate who has not a single flaw and is a delight to live with—I am everybody?" he jokes and feels the floor stabilizing under his feet again. This he can do, this he knows how to do. 

But Tommy's not yet done being intense. He turned his whole body to Jon and holds his gaze, steady and insistent. "No," he says, "that's the point, Lovett."

"I..." Jon says, immediately unsure on his own legs again. Tommy's eyes are dark and blue, and so honest it seems to pull the floor out from under his feet, steadily with every second he looks. 

"If I haven't told you," Tommy says slowly, "how many people do you think know, here in DC?" He paused, grimaces, and adds, "Well, other than the people who handle the security clearance, obviously." 

"Oh." It instantly feels better, not having know about it. Jon isn't the one left out. This is not a personal thing, not a ’Lovett shouldn’t know’ thing. This is just Tommy being Tommy. And Jon gracefully decides he’s going to obtain from using his secretiveness against him, at least in this case.

"Yes, _oh_. You know, it's a lot easier when you're bisexual. With girls—it's just easier. The path of least resistance and all that." Tommy smiles ruefully. "I get how unfair that sounds to you, but that's what it is. I don't lie about it when asked, but I usually don't just tell people." 

He looks guilty. As if him being out would have changed anything about what Jon had to go through. And there is something else he wants to say. Jon has no idea what it is, but he's afraid to hear it. 

"So, you had a boyfriend before?" He asks, needing to bring this back to safer territory, one where he isn't in danger to scream all his feelings into Tommy's face. Because him liking guys? Doesn't change anything. Tommy's still way, way too hot for someone like Jon. Miles and miles out of his league. No reasons to get any hope up. Or anything else, for that matter.

Tommy grimaces. He rolls his glass in his hands and avoids looking at Jon. "I had a... _somebody_. I would've liked to call him my boyfriend back then, I suppose, but—" He makes a face and shrugs.

"It's okay. You don't need to prove your bisexuality to me, Tommy," Jon says gently, "I didn't want to imply that I question your identity." 

"No, it's fine. It's just strange. You know, it's been a long time since I talked about him." He ducks his head, smiling with something like relief. 

 

And then Tommy tells Jon about his somebody. His roommate at college with whom Tommy had many firsts and who was even more scared than Tommy. And who was definitely a boyfriend in almost everything but the name for five months of Tommy's life. Until the summer came and went, and his somebody came back with a girlfriend and the request for a new roommate. 

Jon has the overwhelming need to hug him—and against everything and against better knowledge he does. Tommy immediately folds himself around him, sinks into the embrace as if he has waited for this for years. 

And maybe he has. Not waited for Jon specifically, of course, but for somebody to hear his story. For someone to hug him, and tell him that it sucks and that the pain will go away. 

Jon doesn't say any of those things. Instead, he presses his lips to Tommy's ear and whispers, "I'm proud of you." 

And that seems to be good enough; he can feel Tommy's smile, feels the muscles in Tommy's arms and back move when he hugs Jon even tighter. 

It’s nice, so, so nice, and Jon feels boneless.

"If you pick me up you will regret it, Vietor," he grumbles, just when the need to kiss him gets too strong. 

Tommy slowly lets go of the embrace but still holds him close. "Wouldn't dream of it." He smiles and then gets wistful. "Thank you, Lovett. And don't make that face, just let me say thank you for listening and, well, everything."

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. My ego's big enough, no need to pamper me for being a decent friend after being a shitty one," Jon offers. He does feel bad about not even suspecting, and he isn't sure if that's due to Tommy's ability to keep secrets, or if Jon didn't _want_ to see it. It’s entirely possible. It was so much easier to take rejection from a straight guy.

"Don't be sorry. You've been way worse before." Tommy grins. 

He looks different now that the tension visibly fell off of him, Jon thinks. His eyes are brighter, his smile easier, the way he holds his shoulders so much more relaxed. It’s as beautiful as it’s heartbreaking.

"So, you want to have a drink on me to celebrate my coming-out," Tommy asks, and then grins at Jon in a way that's almost flirtatiously, "or do you want to show me how to dance?"

"Let's have another drink first because I'm not sure what I should teach you about dancing?" Jon says, thankful for his brain to be able to answer and be properly shocked at the same time. "I mean, dancing? That's neither of our strong suits."

"I've never danced with a guy before, so I doubt you'll disappoint that bad." Tommy shrugs and laughs in a way that shouldn't be allowed. 

*

When Jon makes his way back to Tommy—two Gin Tonics in his hands, because Tommy decided that was preferable over bright cocktails and Jon decided to let him have this—he sees somebody standing by his side. 

Cute, he thinks, not without bitterness; certainly cuter than he himself. He probably shouldn't have left Tommy and his cheekbones alone and unsupervised. Now he has to get Tommy's drink to Tommy without interrupting his first flirt with a guy in a bar—and he doesn't even know if he wants all of that. 

While he still thinks about how he can achieve most of what he _should do_ and what he _wants to do_ at the same time, Tommy spots him. He gives him a smile so blindingly that Jon wants to throw up. 

Approaching them cautiously he sees Tommy gesturing in his direction. The guy turns around—and fuck everything, he's even cuter up close—and smiles at him tightly. 

"Well, anyways, I hope you have a nice evening;" he says to Tommy and gives Jon a short nod before disappearing into the crowd. Jon has to try very hard not to let the small but fierce territorial part of his brain howl in triumph. 

"Sorry for interrupting," Jon says handing Tommy his glass. His tone is flat, but he feels a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. 

Tommy watches him, quietly amused. "You are not."

"No, I'm not," admits Jon, "I haven't even had the chance to toast to the fact that we're now an apartment free of heterosexuals. And if I'm honest I don't want to share that moment with a stranger."

"We were that before, Lovett."

"Yes, but I wasn't _aware_. Now I can do things like point out hot guys on TV, or when we go out, or..."

"You do that anyway," Tommy interrupts him laughing.

"But Tommy," Jon insists, "now I give a shit about your opinions on those matters!" 

Tommy laughs and Jon can't help but feel a little bit lighter.

They fall easily into their usual dynamic. It feels like always, just the banter seems a bit more pointed than usual. But maybe that's just what Jon wants it to feel like, so he decides his judgment on the matter is entirely useless. 

At the bottom of his glass, he has almost forgotten about their surroundings and situation; being so engulfed in the discussion about _that one fucking republican_. When Tommy takes it out of his hand, placing it neatly on a table beside them, everything comes back to Jon. 

"Dance with me?" Tommy asks and takes both of Jon's hands in his. 

"Okay. Fine," Jon says and rolls his eyes up at Tommy who seems delighted with Jon's pliable side. Then he adds, "Just so we're clear: This whole Tommy-gets-whatever-he-wants is an absolute exception. You know, rewards for being a brave little boy scout tonight." 

Tommy shoves him in the shoulder with his own hand that is still intertwined with Tommy's. 

"If it's indeed Tommy-gets-whatever-he-wants-time, then I would suggest you shut your mouth and do what I asked for." He sounds playful, but there is something in his eyes and words that sets flames to Jon's spine. 

Tommy leads him backward through the dancing people, and Jon asks himself the whole time how he's able to put enough trust in Tommy to let this happen. He feels his hands get wet, or maybe it’s Tommy’s hands, Jon can’t tell. 

The base is thundering in his ears and under his feet, his shoulders bump into faceless people and Jon can’t take his eyes away from Tommy’s. He doesn’t even realize they’ve stopped moving until Tommy gives him an expecting look and starts to move to the beat. 

It's awkward at first. So. Fucking. Awkward. Jon feels like he has too many limbs that take up too much space. He can't find the right rhythm, is too stiff in his hips, too unsure on his feet. The floor is sticky and there are people everywhere, and it all adds up, leaving him buzzing in his own skin. 

And then there's Tommy—too close and not close enough—and Jon doesn't know what to do with it. Should he look past Tommy or directly at him, and if so, should he look him in the eyes? Hold his gaze? It all feels equally wrong.

Tommy doesn't look much more comfortable, even though Jon admits he looks like he's trying his best to appear like he is. Jon can see it in the way he holds his head, in the way his hands close around nothing, in the way his limbs move too chopped. 

He closes his eyes. Shutting everything out seems to be the only possibility, and he's letting himself be carried by the music and the energy in the room instead of by the fear of what this means. 

It takes a moment, but then his feet don't feel like they're stuck to the floor anymore, his movements start to feel natural and on purpose.

When he dares to open his eyes again he looks into Tommy's. He gives Jon a smile that's like a tickle in the back of his head, like a silent dare. Jon doesn't know what for but he feels his defenses quietly collapse. He can't do anything against it.

So he just dances and while he certainly does register that the space between them gets smaller and smaller, he's almost sure it's not his fault. So it's also not his responsibility. At least not for now.

The music changes, and so does their dancing; now closer than before, closer than ever. Jon's surprised how well they move together. He didn't expect his body to ever feel so in line with Tommy's broad chest and long limbs and strong shoulders. It's hard not to imagine— 

Lifting his eyes from Tommy's chest doesn't make it any better. Because Tommy is giddy with laughter now, all golden and bright under the fluorescent light, and so, so beautiful that it almost breaks Jon's heart.

He has to close his eyes, helplessly trying not to get lost in the vision. He's still able to feel the heat radiating off of Tommy, close enough that he would be able to touch if he just lifted his hands. He feels the vibrations under his feet, the sticky heat of too many sweating bodies in too little space. The music surrounds him and for seconds the beating heart in his throat and the beat of the music are perfectly in sync. 

And then there's a hand on his hip, tentatively pulling him forward and his heart skips. Another hand, on the nape of his neck, and it continues in double the speed. Tommy's body is suddenly so close. He's warm, smells like aftershave and washing agent, and it's stealing Jon's breath. His body's still moving to the beat of the music but he feels like he has lost any control over its actions. 

Tommy leans down and his jaw collides with Jon's temple a bit too hard. As if he wasn't dizzy enough already, Jon thinks. 

Tommy laughs raspy and leans closer to Jon's ear. More careful this time. "I don't know about dizzy," he murmurs, "but you're gorgeous like this."

He doesn't sound like he's joking, and all the air leaves Jon's body at once. 

When he finally opens his eyes to look at Tommy Jon can't find any humor in his face either. He looks slightly disheveled, cheeks pink, teeth buried in his lower lip. 

And Jon thinks _Fuck it_ , slides his hand in Tommy's hair and pulls him down. It's all Tommy needs to meet him halfway. 

It's a soft press of lips at first, still testing, still asking. When Jon opens his mouth, just slightly, it seems to open the floodgates in Tommy's mind. Because suddenly his tongue is in Jon's mouth and they're pressed against each other as much as their height differences allow. 

Tommy's hand in Jon's neck tightens as he deepens the kiss. He kisses Jon like he's drowning, desperate and greedy, and it's nothing like Jon would've expected. He's momentarily overwhelmed by how much Tommy _wants_. Wants this, wants _Jon_. 

Jon can't keep his hands in one place, let's them wander to take what he can while he still can. Tommy's shoulders span wide under his fingers. The fabric of his shirt is soft but Jon wishes it wouldn't be there, wishes he would get the chance to feel Tommy's skin under it. 

It's a haze of hot breath, wet mouths, and hands that want more, more, more.

The bright lights against his closed eyelids, the steady baseline, the heat of dozens of other bodies—all of it blurs together until Tommy is all Jon can think and feel, and taste; until his feet don't touch the ground anymore.

Tommy shifts and suddenly his leg is between Jon's, and Tommy presses closer and _up_ , and Jon sees stars. He's so hard and this is as much of a relief as it's a promise. He can feel Tommy's dick pressing into his stomach and the knowledge that this is because of him, it makes Jon shiver violently. His whole body is vibrating with so much energy, so much want, and need, and the knowledge that this is rapidly slipping out of his control. 

He has a hard time fighting through the fog in his head, but finally, he pulls himself together enough to break the kiss.

He's embarrassingly breathless as he says, "Don't take this the wrong way, because that was fucking hot, but we need to stop."

A frown appears on Tommy's face that makes laughter bubble in Jon's chest. It's a relief, seeing the real-life proof that he's not the only one who's way too much into this. 

* 

A quick car ride later—they sit on opposite sides of the backseat, and Jon almost suspects he must have imagined everything—Jon tries to open the door to their apartment with slightly jittery fingers. He _must_ have imagined it. It doesn't make sense, rattles his worldview to the core. Imagining it makes much more sense than it happening for real. Maybe someone had put something in his drink? 

But then Tommy's arms reach around him to take the key from his hand, opening the door himself. All while pressing his whole body against Jon's—and Jon thinks clearly doesn't imagine _this_. Tommy's chest is warm and broad against his back, and very real. 

They stumble into the dark apartment and before Jon can turn on the lights Tommy has him back against the door. His hands are on each side of Jon's head, his body is pressed close, and he kisses him with a vigor that makes Jon dizzy.

He feels breathless—and like he's able to breathe for the first time since they left the bar. He didn't imagine anything, Tommy doesn't regret anything. It's not exactly what Jon wants, but it's the best he can have. 

Tommy presses his mouth against Jon's ear. "I need you, Lovett. Fuck, I need you so bad." His breath is hot and wet, and hitches as Jon presses his hips forward to show him how bad he's needed in return. 

You can have me, you can always have me, he thinks, desperate. 

"Get me out of my clothes and you can have me," he says. 

It earns him a moan from Tommy that goes directly into his dick. 

They stumble through the dark apartment and out of their clothes, too busy with each other to take the time to even think about something as mundane as light. Jon's pretty sure his own pants have landed somewhere on the dining table.

Tommy lets go of Jon only to scoot to the middle of the bed, looking at Jon like he's expecting him to follow. But Jon has other plans. He wants to have this moment of Tommy lying flushed, and beautiful, and as naked as you can be against the sheets. It's a view he could get used to, Jon thinks, and the thought tastes bitter underneath all its sweetness. 

Tommy quirks an eyebrow at him, but Jon's not done yet. He lets his eyes wander over Tommy with a little bit more intent. Tommy's got a nice body, all long limbs, and lean muscles, pale skin and freckles. And god, he has a nice dick, Jon thinks. 

"You've got a nice dick," he says before he knows it. He thinks about being embarrassed for the fraction of a second, but it's true, and so he just sits down next to Tommy, hand on his thigh. 

"Oh god..." Tommy blushes violently and hides his face behind his hands. He laughs, shy and embarrassed, and maybe a bit turned on. 

"No, no, no! No hiding. Let me look at your handsome face, you monster," Jon whines and tries to shove Tommy's arms away. If Tommy's soft and vulnerable he's going to lure Jon in, and then Jon will confess, and that will ruin everything, and— 

Tommy looks up at him between his fingers before taking his hands away slowly. His cheeks are bright red, but the skin around his eyes crinkles softly. "You are so charming," he chuckles, "I don't even know why I like you!" 

It's disgustingly cute and Jon has to lean down to kiss the soft smile from Tommy's lips. "Less talking." And in his head, he adds: Because if I talk I'm going to tell you all the things you don't want to know. 

Tommy pulls him down until their bodies are pressed flush together and never stops kissing him. Jon could lose himself in this, in the feeling of naked skin against skin, in the way Tommy's dick presses into his hip. In Tommy's arms around his waist, in his hand between Jon's shoulder blades, holding him close. He could get lost in the way Tommy kisses him, slow and lusciously, like they have all the time in the world. 

It's too sweet for Jon to take for much longer. He sneaks one hand between them and pressed his palm flat against Tommy's dick. This is easy, so much less dangerous, and only because here at least he knows what he's doing. 

Tommy moans into the kiss and it sends a shiver down Jon's spine that makes him question if he might be mistaken. If there possibly isn't an _easier_ , not with Tommy. Maybe this is how it is, maybe everything with Tommy feels a bit deeper, a bit heavier. 

"Lovett, let me first—," Tommy mumbles against his lips and before Jon can ask what he's saying he scoots down Jon's body until he can place himself between Jon's legs. 

"Oh." It's all he can say when Tommy looks expectantly up to him like he's asking for permission. Jon sends a nod after, just in case Tommy needs his consent in a way that's more explicit than wide-eyed wonder and a rock hard dick. 

Jon watches breathlessly as Tommy positions himself. He's flushed and gorgeous, so much so that Jon's insides twist uncomfortably. But there's no time for examining the feeling for much longer, and he bites the inside of his lip when Tommy closes his fingers around his dick. 

He strokes Jon once, twice, hand large and warm, grip sure. Jon moans, unable to keep it in any longer. "Holy shit, if you've told me earlier this evening this would happen tonight I would have laughed into your face." 

Tommy grins. "There's still time to laugh. Go on, as long as you still can." He moves his hand down, cups Jon's balls in his palm while holding his dick in position with one finger. Jon's going to have dreams about Tommy's hands, he's absolutely, devastatingly sure of that. 

Tommy gives him a last gaze that almost feels too soft before he sinks down. 

Tommy's mouth on his dick is nothing like Jon had— would have imagined it. If he had. Which he did not, thank you very much. But back when he thought of Tommy as somebody completely straight he would have expected shy and clumsy, if maybe enthusiastically. Nothing about this is shy or clumsy. 

Not the way he molds his tongue against the underside of Jon's dick, not the way he hollows his cheeks, not how— 

Tommy sinks his mouth down, all the way down until his nose touches Jon's skin; and Jon has to bite into the ball of his own hand to not cry out loud. It's only a whimper what comes out, but it coaxes a deep moan from Tommy. 

When Jon looks at him he has to try very hard not to come instantly. Tommy looks amazing, cheeks hollowed around on his cock. His eyes are half-lidded and cloudy, and when their gaze meet he moans again. 

"You like this." Jon laughs help and breathlessly, unable to process the information he just voiced. 

It isn't a question but Tommy still let go of his dick and grins up at him to answer, if a bit bashfully. "Hell, yeah."

And then he adds, "The only thing that would make this better was if you'd let me hear you." 

Jon freezes and is unable to do anything but nod and let his hands sink to the bed. 

"Tell me what you like," Tommy murmurs against his stomach, "tell me how to make this good for you." 

Jon laughs, unintentionally sharp. 

Tommy raises his eyebrows in a silent question, and Jon can't help himself, he has to sit up, has to cup Tommy's face in his hands and kiss him. "You don't have to do anything special. Be you, that's quite enough." It's too telling, but Jon suddenly needs Tommy to _know_ this. 

Tommy smiles against his lips and somehow they just end up kissing again, closely entangled. Kissing, and kissing, until it gets too much and not enough at all again, until Jon's blind with lust and suppressed emotions.

It's painstakingly hard to break the kiss, but he's too close to coming already. "In favor of keeping at least a bit of my dignity intact, I would like to suck your dick now, before I come from just dry humping your hip," Jon pants, in a not very dignified way. 

He can feel Tommy's heart beating hard against his fingers when he presses his hands against Tommy's chest to keep a distance between them that feels like it doesn't belong. 

Tommy nods. "Whatever you want, Lovett." 

He pulls Jon into another kiss as if to emphasize his own words. As sweet as it is, Jon doesn't believe him, and that adds a bitterness to the kiss that closes his throat. 

Tommy's eyes are glassy when Jon breaks away. It almost takes his breath how dark they are, how much Tommy wants this. Still. And Jon hasn't stopped preparing for him to flee the room, has mentally seen him flee the room at least four times now, and Tommy's still here, looking at him like this.

Jon swallows words that want to come out and shouldn't. He ducks under Tommy's gaze and doesn't look back at him until he has positioned himself between Tommy's legs. It's hard, but Jon needs to see that this is okay, that Tommy doesn't just change his mind all of a sudden. Jon _needs_ that. So he doesn't break the eye contact, not even when he leans down. 

"I have thought about this so many times, you can't even begin to imagine, Lovett," Tommy pants, before Jon can even do anything. 

He pauses and crooks one eyebrow up at Tommy. "You have?" This evening doesn't stop surprising him. Tommy fantasizing about this, that doesn't sound right at all! 

Tommy's cheeks pink even more, but he doesn't look away, keeps his eyes on Jon's when he says, "Yes, Lovett. I like you." 

"Oh." Jon doesn't know what to say. He feels silly like this, balancing on his heels between Tommy's legs, naked, dick hard, and hair damp and wild, and with what must be the most dumbfounded expression ever on his face. 

Tommy bites his lips in what Jon can clearly identify as anticipation, but for once in his live it's like he's out of words. This was not a possibility he had calculated. Not ever before tonight and not even after learning about Tommy’s sexuality. This should not have been possible. And still, it is. 

Jon can see Tommy swallowing, throat working around the horrible feelings Jon must leave there, more and more with every second he stays silent. But he can't seem to snap out of it, out of the silent wonder about what he just heard. Tommy likes him. In a way Jon hadn't anticipated he would ever like him. 

Tommy clears his throat and awkwardly shuffles back on the bed, moving his crotch out of Jon's face. It's only now that he notices that Tommy's gotten soft and that understanding paired with the sudden absence of Tommy's knees as a stabilization lets Jon tumble backward. He lands with his naked ass on the floor and feels disoriented for a moment. 

"Everything alright?" Tommy asks after a minute of silence. His words are clipped, his voice raspy. But he's still here, still asking. 

"How are you still so polite?" Jon asks and scrambles to his feet. This might be the only chance he has, he's not going to let it slip through his fingers because he's too afraid of what might go wrong. 

"I just stared at you for five minutes after you told me you liked me, and you're still asking me if I'm alright?!" Jon's voice has gotten louder. It's almost like fake bravery, and he feels it run through his veins like pure energy. Fuck it if it’s fake, he has to make use of it. 

He comes closer, crawls up the bed until he's at Tommy's hight. "I like you as well, Tommy. I like you an embarrassing lot, to be honest." 

Tommy grins shakily. "Really?" 

"Really. Duh. How often have I hit on you?" 

"How often were you serious about it?" Tommy shoots back. 

And yeah, fair, Jon thinks. Entirely fair. 

"Once," he says, and doesn't meet Tommy's eyes. "Maybe." 

"See. How could I've been sure?" Tommy asks. "For all I knew, it could have been a joke entirely." 

"You've got to work on your self-confidence, Tommy," Jon says, catching his lips in a soft kiss. 

"Look who's talking." Tommy laughs before biting Jon's lower lip gently. He lets his teeth scrap over the sensitive skin and Jon shudders. 

"We should pick this up where we have left it," Jon says, because this feels so very intimate, he's not sure about how much deeper he can let Tommy look right now without breaking apart. 

He tries to connect their lips in a kiss again, but Tommy pulls away. 

"What now?" Jon asks, voice full of obviously fake annoyance. He's not risking anything anymore.

And neither is Tommy because he takes Jon's face between his hands and looks him with a stern gaze. "First we establish the facts here, okay? When I say that I 'like you', I mean that I've fallen in love with you." 

"I figured as much," Lovett says, cheeks squishing up against Tommy's palms in a way that must look stupid, but if it does, Tommy doesn't comment on it. It's so very close, so very intimate; it's moving something in him that's not yet ready to be moved. Blindly he searches for Tommy's thigh, squeezes it in a way he hopes urges Tommy to come to the point. 

"Lovett." Tommy huffs an exasperated laugh that Jon can feel on his cheek. "Stay with me here for a second." 

"You don't want this?" 

"I very much do, that's not what I'm saying at all. But I don't want this to be a one-off, and then back to friends again, or whatever we'd manage to be. If that's what you're in for, I don't think I can— I'm not the right person for—" 

"No," Lovett says quickly. "I'm not either. I'm in for, whatever— you know, whatever you—" 

"If you— I'm just— " Tommy starts to say and helplessly closes his mouth again. 

Jon makes a face. "Oh god. We're appallingly bad at communicating for two people who fucking work in communications."

Tommy laughs, loud and happy, and so warm that Jon wants to wrap himself in it. They sink into each other, still naked, still laughing helplessly. 

All the tenseness, all the anticipation, and fear fall off Jon, and he can't stop, still silently giggling into the pillow. 

Tommy lies down next to him, cheek onto the same pillow.

Finally close enough, Jon thinks and feels the laughter be replaced by something else, something even warmer and much deeper. 

Tommy looks at him, unguarded for the first time. He's got a quiet smile on his lips and Jon gives in to the urge to trace a finger along the edges of his face. 

Tommy's smile deepens, and when Jon traces his cheekbone with his thumb he leans his cheek into Jon's palm. It's so sweet, so heart-achingly tender and vulnerable that Jon thinks he's going to choke on the rush in his chest. 

"I'm in love with you," he says. "I want to be with you." 

It's painful to say it but he isn't afraid anymore, and he has to give Tommy this, he has to put some of his own vulnerability on the table. 

"I would like that, very much," Tommy whispers and kisses him, soft and unguarded.

And Jon—Jon finally allows himself to sink into this. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [tumblr](https://sixtotenpotatoes.tumblr.com/) / Fic [post](https://sixtotenpotatoes.tumblr.com/post/181614350214/now-that-the-author-reveals-happened-and)


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